


They Simply Become Music

by spicywaffles



Category: TWICE (Band), Westworld (TV)
Genre: F/F, TWICE/Westworld AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 22:03:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13690731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicywaffles/pseuds/spicywaffles
Summary: Momo is a pole-dancing host in Westworld. Mina visits her every day despite herself. They learn to feel.





	They Simply Become Music

As usual, the shapely girl was hanging upside down along the pole when Mina entered the darkened room. One of her legs hooked around it effortlessly, the other sticking straight up in a pointe, the astounding calf muscle outlined in a deep shadow. She was spinning slowly around to face her guest, dark shoulder-length hair hanging in a shimmery curtain. 

Mina counted four seconds before the girl’s almond eyes widened at the sight of her arrival, then another three seconds before that familiar pitchy voice said, “I don’t usually get girls around here, but we want what we want eh?”

She remembered being mildly irritated when she first visited this story. She thought a fabricated park designed to satisfy their guests’ deepest human desires could at least be rid of heteronormativity. But there was something strangely intriguing about this stripper’s scripted surprise. While the second half of her exclamation carried the tired seduction that was of her job, the first half sounded almost like an excited child introduced to a new playmate. So she stayed and watched her dance.

The first few times she visited her, Mina sat alone on the stiff sterilised couch, silently watching the girl swing in various contortions along the pole, spreading her long muscular legs into easy over-splits, stretching her beautiful arm all the way around to hold her ankle, spinning and spinning like a musical box ballerina in a rather revealing leotard. Her dancing had entirely no communication with the blaring electronic beats, as if moving in her own world of some unheard music. But really it was just a result of lazy story writing.

Mina sat and watched the host’s impeccable expressions, answering polite “anything is fine” responses to all of her service questions. Once, she was offered a drink, and the girl joined her at the couch when a servant entered with two glasses of red wine. The wine was musty and carried no sweetness beneath the dry. Mina already hated alcohol in the first place. The girl sipped at it and licked her lips as if it was Olympian nectar. Then she climbed gently on top of Mina and began moving in gentle waves above her. Her cold fingers traced Mina’s hairline, jaw, then, just faintly, for the longest second, lingered at the small mole by the corner of her mouth.

Mina froze when she did that. Of course she knew there were a million ways to program a host to react to visual cues specific to different guests. But at that one teasing touch, she felt she was tipping over the edge of her disillusionment, staring into the girl’s wide glassy eyes, feeling the long unvisited pounding in her chest. 

The girl began to move in stronger pulses, her strong thighs gripping and grinding along Mina’s, her tight breasts just brushing against the base of her chin. Mina began to feel an urgent throbbing between her legs as she brought her hands to the girl’s waist.

“Your name. Look me in the eye and tell me your name.” The girl lowered her gaze and stared at Mina, “Momo.” The girl was breathing heavily and began to close the gap between their lips. 

But just as the sweet voice washed over her, Mina was overcome by the awful scent of bad wine from the girl’s breath. Instantly she found herself picturing the inside of this stunning, beautifully toned vessel. She pictured the valve that was at the back of her throat, just beneath the state-of-the-art minuscule sound system that delivered her coded lines, opening into a synthetic cavern in her body that now stored the intake of wine she had just ingested.

Mina found herself recoiling from the kiss, struggling to get away from the breath that was no more than ejected gas. She pushed at the girl hard and she fell backwards onto the carpeted floor. For a moment she worried that she had hurt her. But the host got up quickly to her feet and resumed the hospitable grin, waiting for another cue from her guest. 

And then Mina felt the anger.

Leaving the park that day she thought she would never return to that story. But the next time she went she was there again on the stiff sterilised couch, the place clean and spotless as usual. She brushed her hand along the spot on the couch where she remembered she had spilt wine the last time, not bothering to look at Momo as she spun around the pole and greeted her again.

“I don’t usually get girls around here, but we want what we want eh?”

For a good half an hour, Mina stared at Momo dance her routine, she had memorised every move by now. Split into turn, turn into handstand, handstand into one-arm hang, one-arm hang into split. 

And finally she knew what she had to do here.

Mina sprung from the seat and kicked off her sneakers. She rotated her ankles a couple times, stretched her hems and then brought her right leg forward into first position. Gracefully, but urgently, she hopped onto the polished elevated stage with a series of quick pique turns. And she danced. Around Momo’s body she spun and jumped, soundless and determined. Through her blurred vision she saw Momo slow down in her programmed movements, pausing to register the new development in her guest, and in her head, with a tone both satisfied and disappointed, Mina thought, “You don’t know what to do, you were made for men, and you don’t know what to do with me.” 

She began dancing even faster, throwing herself into the momentum and letting physics work. After almost a minute, Momo’s body had returned to the default upended slow spin, her face was still the hospitable grin. A lump formed in Mina’s throat and the inner corners of her eyes watered when she heard Momo speak again, “I don’t usually get girls around here, but we want what we want eh?” There. She’d found it. She broke the code.

As Momo slowed to an unstaring stop, Mina stepped off the stage and put on her sneakers again with her back against the dancer. Angrily wiping at her cheeks, she went for the door. But just as her hand wrapped around the cold metal handle, the pitchy voice rang out again, “Will you show me how to do that?”

After a pause, Mina tentatively turned back and asked, “Do what?”

“Dance without the pole.”

Growing up in Kobe, Mina enjoyed Pepper Lunches. She loved mixing the honey and the butter into the rice, breaking the yolk, pressing the slices of meat into the grill to make that sizzling noise. She realised that feeling was why the franchise was so popular, children always wanted to feel like they were making their own food, and when people grew older the child was still there in them. 

But once she realised that it was a business model, she was irritated at the manipulation. Still a devout patron of Pepper Lunch, she began to sneak in various sauces from home, cuts of meat stolen from the freezer. She always took the single table at the corner facing away from the counter and there she mixed in her own picks. She even began making weird sauces of her own recipe - banana onion puree, pork belly mayonnaise, tabasco with garlic, some turned out surprisingly good and others she forced herself to finish so the staff wouldn’t realise what she had been up to.

She always liked to be that special customer. A stubborn refusal to take a product simply as marketed. A stubborn insistence to make her own thing.

So every free day that Mina had, she returned to the park, visited the same strip club, and taught Momo ballet. She didn’t know what prompted Momo to know how to ask her, but she was glad. It was easy teaching, not really teaching even, Momo’s code must have had a mirroring function, for she caught every move just as it came. 

And their dancing became music. Perfect timing, perfect support.

Eventually, Mina relented and they cuddled together on the couch, Momo’s arm soft around her neck, fingers twirling into her hair. Mina was always surprised at these little details in her touch, strange little kinks that would not have been written into a stripper host’s story. With every surprise, Mina grew less punishing on herself in her desire to let go.

“My mother taught me ballet when I was young, that was when I loved it.”

“Do you not love it now?” Momo’s voice is much less pitchy when she wasn’t contorting herself around that pole. It was soft and child-like.

“They enrolled me in ballet school and I stopped loving it.”

“How do you dance like that if you don’t love it?”

“I love it now. I am not in school.”

“You mean you love to dance it with me?” Momo had adapted to the soft interaction with Mina while still executing the original seduction prompts. The result was a pleasant flirtatiousness.

“What about you, do you love being a stripper?”

“I’m no stripper, I dance.”

“No but you strip while you dance and probably let men fuck you if they pay enough. Do you love that?”

Momo paused. Sometimes when Mina pushed a little further, Momo had to stop to generate a response. Mina could almost hear the soundless whirring inside her - what does this mean, what does the guest want to hear now?

“It doesn’t matter. I love to dance with you.” 

Mina did eventually kiss her (careful never to accede to offers of drinks again). The first time they had sex, Momo did it her usual aggressive way, pulling at collars and zippers, digging her nails into Mina’s arms and thighs hard but not enough to hurt, moaning loudly into her ear. But with a few prompts from Mina, she learnt to take her time. 

That first time, she stuck two fingers in immediately, reproducing activity from previous encounters where she had been on the receiving end. When Mina gasped in shock, Momo stopped to check that she hadn’t hurt her. But Mina held her hand before she pulled away, “No I’m ok,” she pulled Momo’s head down to her neck and let her suck on the tender skin there.

“Use your thumb too, rub here.” She guided Momo to her clit and she began gently to stroke, first up and down, then in small circles. As Mina began to breathe heavier, moving her hips up to meet her fingers, Momo went faster. “Get down there…” Momo slid down along her body, landing gentle kisses along the way, on her collarbone, just beside her right nipple, her tightened abs, the fuzzy hairs, and finally square on her clit. When she used her tongue, she knew to mirror the movements she had just learnt, pushing hard against the warm wetness.

Momo looked up at her as Mina began pulling at her own nipples, flicking them from time to time, bucking into her mouth and moaning. She reached up and took a left nipple between her thumb and index too, squeezing gently. “Momo…” Mina reached down and pushed her fingers into Momo’s hair, pushing her head urgently against her throbbing clit. “Fuck, harder.” Momo brought her free hand beneath her lapping tongue and gently pushed them into Mina. With the same rhythm, she fucked her deeper and deeper, curling her fingers to rub along the rough ceiling inside her. She went faster and with the next flick at her nipple, Mina came, gripping Momo’s head and pushing into her mouth, guttural moans escaping her. As she pushed, she felt Momo’s teeth graze at her shaking clit and another wave of pleasure rocked through her body. 

When she was finally done with the longest orgasm she had ever experienced, she pulled Momo up, kissed her deeply, licking up the sticky saltiness all over her mouth. Then she flipped her over and mounted her. She took Momo’s perfectly sculpted nipple in her mouth and sucked, reaching down and rubbing at her clit. “That feels... so good…” Momo gasps, and Mina believes her.

They lay in each other’s arms for a long time after, Mina with her cheek just above Momo’s breast, listening to the exactly even beating of the heart-equivalent inside her body. 

“You won’t remember me when I come back.” She whispered.

“I don’t think anyone can forget the sound of you coming that fucking hard.”

Mina let herself laugh into the warm, slightly sweaty space between Momo’s breasts, “You won’t remember.”


End file.
